How the Strong Fall
by IshiHatake23
Summary: Durham is revived by Creed only to put him through more than anything death could deal out. Durham thinks back to his past and tries to cope with the pain of what Creed has done to him. WARNING: Contains yaoi, rape, and foul language.


**First CreedxDurham on fanfiction! I got sick and tired of Durham not getting his due and scince I have a sick little mind, this what you get. **

***HARD YAOI WARNING!**

***Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

_**Abyss**_

He felt so cold... All he could see was endless black. He couldn't move. Was he even breathing? How long had he been this way? A year, a decade, or only a second? He had none of the answers to the questions he presented himself with.

But he did know who he was...

His name was Durham Glaster. Twenty-six years ago he was born and raised in Gaiden. A small weastern town untouched by the hand of time, an oasis in the middle of a vast desert. His best friend and only partner was the revolver his daddy'd left him. He'd only ever loved one woman, Jolean Thompson. Most beautiful girl he'd ever seen with her ebony hair, high cheek bones and sun-kissed skin.

He'd carried her coffin alongside her father and brothers after her tragic death.

His heart would never sing again... No, that wasn't quite right. He didn't have a heart, just a black abyss like the one he was staring into. He'd buried his heart when he'd buried Jolean. That had been what made him so violent and feral. He'd thrown away all his humanity and slowly turned into the monster he was now.

Maybe he belonged in this abyss... Oh, who the hell was he trying to fool? He belonged there and he knew it.

Suddenly a jolt shot through his body. His lungs burned as they filled with oxygen and were forced to expand. His tan lids flipped open and he automaticly wished to return to the abyss. It wasn't the rank, decaying smell of the room that had him wishing for the blackness of death, but the two cold lavender eyes that were staring him down.

"So, you've finally came back from the dead?" Creed mused.

That bastard! Does he get his kicks from carving people up then reviving them? He tried to look around, but then his bangs fell into his face. He got annoyed quick, this is why he wore a hat, it kept his bangs out of- Where was his hat?...Wait, where was his revolver? He then noticed the absence of his trump card: the hidden gun/mask against his face. He was weaponless.

Durham looked around nervously. He would have screamed if he hadn't been gagged by his own bandana. He was in a small, dark room, tied to a table by metal bands around his arms, wrists, knees, ankles, and neck. The restraints were barable for him, but it was the small, dark room he couldn't deal with. He'd never been able to stand beeing in them, he just couldn't take it. And the fact that he'd go nuts if he couldn't see the sky for more than ten minutes, only made his situation worse.

"Now, don't get so upset. I know you don't like the room, but just-" Creed chuckled darkly. "Was that a whimper, Durham? I never knew you would be one to show such weakness."

Durham started to get the shakes. His stomach started to flip and a cold sweat bloomed over his tan skin. Oh hell, he felt like he couldn't breathe. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to calm his fluctuating heart. He had almost composed himself when he felt an icey hand on his inner thigh.

Durham felt the blood in his veins freez in fear. He hadn't payed attention to the fact that the only thing covering him was a thin white cloth tucked around his hips, ending above his mid thigh. It didn't completely cover him. But he was kind of big, someone actually told him once that he could put a Belgin horse to shame. Normally he'd gloat about it, but now he was paying for it.

The gunslinger wanted to curse his bad luck to the depths of hell and back, but all he could do was bite down on the bandana. His pinprick sized eyes narrowed even further, making them nearly nonexistant, at the albino infront of him. His fear had fueled his anger. Now he needed his gun like a human needs air, just so he could blow that stupid grin off Creeds face for good. He shouted afew obsenities into the red cloth to make himself feel better.

"Now, that's the Durham I know." Creed remarked as he ran his pale fingers down Durhams abs and to the edge of the cloth.

Durham peirced Creed with his eyes. _"Don't you dare you little, skinny ass snake! Don't. You. Even. _DARE_!"_

He dared.

The swordsman slipped his hand under the cloth and gripped Durham roughly. The cowboy barked a muffled curse and tried to struggle out of his bonds. Creed smiled and pulled on a thin wire. Suddenly the band around Durhams neck tightened and he had to relax or risk suffocation. He would have welcomed the strangulation, but his body and survival instincts were directly linked and he had no say. So his muscles went on a little vacation without any consent form him.

"Stay still or you'll be meeting another punishment before we even get started."

_"...Punishment?"_

Durhams confusion must have shown because Creed began to explain so they would be on the same page.

"You see, Durham, when you misbehave you get punished. When you behave you get rewarded. Basic. But I can see by the look in your eyes you don't quite think it's so simple. And you are right." He gave Durhams cock a painful squeez. "I'm sure you have a pretty good idea about what will happen to you here. So the punishments will be likewise."

His hands left the rough, tan skin and he made a bit of a show of walking to a wordrobe in the corner of the cell like room. When he opened it Durhams shaggy black hair stood on ends. He looked at Creed, silently asking if this was a joke, but the mans cold smile told him it was infact not a joke.

_"Shoot me. For the love 'o God, shoot me now."_ Durham mentaly pleaded as he hit his head on the hard table.

The wordrobe held a seemingly endless supply of cane poles, sharpening straps, horse whips and- were those spurs? What the hell was he looking at?

"What? You don't like my little toys? I thought you'd appreciate the older forms of punishment."

Durham felt the vein on his forhead pulse in anger while his eye started to twitch. _"Funny. Real damned funny. Slimey little bastard...Just 'cause I'm from the country don't mean I'm __**that **__old fashioned!"_

"Oh look on the bright side: not all of out sessions will be a form of punishment, I assure you. Although I can't garantee you won't be sore... But you'll enjoy them none the less."

Durham huffed and turned his head away, glaring at nothing in particular. Enjoy them? Ha! He couldn't stand being in the other mans presence, let alone fuck him. And if Creed thought the rouge westerner would just go along with it and stay in that acursed room, he was dead wrong!

Creed walked over to the table and ran his hand along the thick cordes of muscle on Durhams neck. "You'll get used to it in time."

Durham would** not **look at the other man. He still felt nausious and his muscles twitched in random spasms from being so on edge. The room seemed to close in around him as the pale Apostle closed in on him. His claustraphobia kicked into high gear when Creed leaned in and licked his ear suggestively. The his panic came back stronger then ever when a finger tried to invade his ass.

The gunman shook his head back and forth desprately as it pressed into him. Creed shushed his muffled protests and plunged two more didgits into Durhams tight, unlubricated body. The older man struggled as much as he could, which wasn't much, but damned if that stopped him from trying! He actually managed to break off one of the four bolts holding down his right wrist.

"Stop thrashing about, Durham. Just grin and bare it okay?"

_"No, not okay! You think it don't hurt, you come 'er and let me shove a gun up 'yer ass 'n pull the trigger! Then we'll see if you think shov'n somethin' up somebodys ass don't hurt!"_

"I wish you'd stop mummbling, I can't understand a word you're saying with that bandana in the way. Although I'm guessing that was a threat?"

Durham gave him a 'do-you-have-to-ask' kind of look.

"Just making sure." Creed sighed as he pulled his fingers out.

The black haired man visably relaxed at the loss of uncomforatable pressure. Creed was curtious enough to give Durham a few moments of peace before straddling his tan hips. Durham went still as a dead man, his muscles coiling and locking. A deep animalistic growl rummbling up from his chest. Creed couldn't hear his threats, fine. But he was going to show how much he hated the creep one way or the other. Creed ignored him and brushed his lips along the cowboys tan jawline and pressed their bodies more firmly against one another. Durhams 'get the fuck off' was lost in the red cloth stuffed in his mouth.

Creed smiled like the madman he was and within the next second, even with the bandana, Durham screamed to high heaven. The albino had done what he'd suggested would happen. Creeds hard member was buried deep within the sharpshooter. Durham went into a type of tramatic overload and flipped out. His breathing became ragged and labored, he showed every kind of distress signal his body could produce, his trigger finger even started twitching.

"Relax, Durham. Going as taunt as a bow-string will only damage you more." Creed purred.

Durham did everything but relax. His heart sped up then started skipping beats and his breathing got even worse. His eyes darted around, instinctively looking for his revolver. Then his train of thought was decimated as Creed started to pound into him. Their pelvises crashing together in a rough, unbridled dance. The smooth skin of the appendage felt like sandpaper to the marksmans sinsative skin. Even when his bright red blood painted his thighs and slicked Creeds cock, it still felt like sandpaper.

Creed continued to ram into the helpless man under him. Relishing in the feeling of Durhams sensitive and abused flesh tearing to give way to the girth of his dick. He knew he was one of, if not the only person on the planet that hed ever seen Durham in such a state.

"You look so different from the cocky man I cut down in the foyer. He was proud and arrogant, you, are weak." Creed jeered as he pushed in so far he swore he was up in the others stomach.

His stubborness and pride were the only things keeping him from begging and writhing under Creeds assault. Hell, he'd recived gunshots that were less painful than this. Pulling at the bands was futile and he was painfully reduced to waiting for Creed to finish and pull out. The rutting continued even after Creed reach his climax. It would be another two hours before the silver haired man extracted himself form Durhams tight body.

"I'll see you in the morning, my little toy." Creed said turning off the light and slamming the door behind him.

Durham whimpered silently and began to tremble violently. Why him? Always him... He wished he could return to the abyss where he could feel nothing, preyed for the numbness. Preyed for numbness and to just be left alone.

He just didn't want to hurt anymore...

**Au/Note: Okay first chapter. Sad Durham history coming up in the next chapter. Feel sorry for the cowboy! R&R or I'll sic Durham on you!**


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